


Torito

by Rocamadour



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Boxer!Grantaire, I'm Sorry, M/M, Spy!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:11:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocamadour/pseuds/Rocamadour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And yeah, perhaps it would be wiser to let Courfeyrac or Bahorel or anyone take over the job but it would mean not seeing him. And that’s why you’re fucked. Not literally, of course. Not that you would mind, but that’s not the point. </p><p>The point is that you might or might not have a crush on one of the most acclaimed fighters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torito

The transaction is simple: you go to the box fight, sit in your numbered chair, nod to the stranger man sitting next to you while he leaves his suitcase in the floor and you do the same with yours. Then you both watch the fight, making small talk and sometimes sharing a drink (yours without any kind of alcohol, thank you very much) and when it ends you take the man’s suitcase with the documents as he takes the one with the money. You both part in different ways and you never see each other again. Next week you’re back again and there’s a new stranger waiting for you.  

It is simple, indeed. In theory, anyway.

Because there’s one thing where your marvellous plan fails and it fails miserably. One little big black hole that could put the entire mission in danger, but it’s not really your fault and you can control yourself better than this, _damn it_.

(You can’t)

And yeah, perhaps it would be wiser to let Courfeyrac or Bahorel or anyone take over the job but it would mean not seeing _him._ And that’s why you’re fucked. Not literally, of course. Not that you would mind, but that’s not the point.

The point is that you might or might not have a crush on one of the most acclaimed fighters.

(You totally do)

He goes by the nickname of R and he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. See? You’re fucked. It’s a little hard to pretend to be one of those business men who go to the club to bet on the best fighter when all you’re thinking is about those strong arms and legs and his mop of black curls. You can’t bring yourself to take your eyes out of his body, following with your gaze each movement, each drip of blood that comes from his face and his fist hitting the body that’s fighting against him and the worst is that he’s good. He’s so good that even someone with little knowledge in boxing as you can acknowledge it.

You can help but feel a little bit guilty. You can’t take the privilege of being distracted; not when the possibility of being catch is too big and there’s already a price for your head and yours friends’. You’re being terribly selfish, putting your banal desires over the accomplishment of the task. But you keep watching him anyway because life is made of these little pleasures.  

Later, when the job is done, you will find him on the back of the parking lot by himself. His face will be cleaned up and you will realise that he has the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. You’ll be alert and tense for one second because it will almost look like he was waiting for you.

But then he will talk to you and you won’t care about anything else. He will ask you for a lighter and you will give him yours. He’ll say “it was a good fight tonight” and you won’t answer him back, too busy staring at him. He’ll try again “I always see you around, in the crowd” and you will nod, not knowing exactly what to say.

“I’m Grantaire” and he will offer you his hand and his completely devotion. And you will take it, because really, there was no other option for either of you. You will hesitate for a second before saying “I’m Enjolras” and life won’t simply be the same.

But for now you content yourself with watching him from your seat.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for any kind of mistakes, English is not my first language. Also I've been wanting to see R doing something else that is not painting or art-related, so here's my humble contribution. Sorry again.


End file.
